


Blow Me (A Kiss)

by unmonsterlike (Plotting_pen)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Inception, Americanisms, Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:57:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plotting_pen/pseuds/unmonsterlike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This takes place in Inception!verse, where Harry is a forger and Louis is the extractor. They're on the run after an assignment (what else is new), and things take on an interesting turn...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blow Me (A Kiss)

**Author's Note:**

> I won’t claim to know anything about European trains or their accommodations. All I know is that Louis and Harry need one bed, and some (illusion of) privacy. Hence... this.
> 
> Written anonymously for the One Direction Kink Meme about a year back, around the time when Harry was mostly tattoo-free and looking like total jailbait and 70% of 1D's fans still believed Louis was a total top... ahh, the good old days... 
> 
> Here is the link to the original post, if anyone's interested: [click](http://1dkinkmeme.livejournal.com/5001.html?thread=6492809).

They thought they escaped danger after managing to get on a helicopter out of Hanoi. It was an impressive feat, even for them, dodging bullets in a wheat field under a hundred degrees weather and dragging along their 30 pounds PASIV. Harry supposed Louis did have a point when he made them hit the gym regularly on their time off. The stamina and strength certainly came in handy when Harry had to lug around the PASIV like some chump while the rest of the boys frolicked through the fields (in Harry’s eyes, anyway).  
  
When they were on air and grinning at each other breathlessly, guns and death threats a safe distance away, Harry declared with great conviction, as he did after every job for the past three years, "I'm never doing this again." Because stealing secrets from the son of the Chinese ambassador and getting groped by the five foot one eighteen-year-old during the two-weeks planning stage sounded a lot sexier in movies than real life.   
  
On the up side, watching Louis threateningly finger his gun throughout the entire process was rather entertaining to experience (and inexplicably sexy; Harry really couldn’t get enough of watching Louis’s fingers and his G34). A jealous Louis was a rare thing to witness, so if Harry happened to flirt too outrageously or leaned in too closely to their target when they spoke, he really couldn’t be blamed for milking Louis’s reaction for all his worth. Zayne, their architect, kept telling him to tone it down because “for fuck’s sake, Harry, Louis is this close to breaking Chang’s neck and screwing us all over because you can’t fucking keep your hands off our target.”  
  
Somehow, that only fueled Harry’s determination to push Louis a bit closer to the edge.  
  
Granted, Harry did realize that, after their job was completed and Chang was as good as dead (which was  _not_ part of their original plan), he might’ve taken it a bit too far. They had only tested inception under Simon’s supervision way back in the military, but he swore Louis tore the poor man’s mind apart and left some horror in his wake.   
  
And then proceeded to break a few of Chang’s ribs after they’d woken up to the sound of gunshots, as if their lives weren’t on the line already.  
  
Sometimes, Harry wondered what really lay beneath the mask of one Louis Tomlinson’s easy smile, because the glimpses scared the shit out of him.  
  
Anyway, after a chase where they all dispersed and promised to get in touch with shouts and grins, Harry and Louis were now on their way to Prague to immediately catch a train to Vienna. In Vienna they would meet up with a friend of Louis’s, who would then put them on a ship to Dubrovnik. From there, they would get on a cruise ship and sail the Mediterranean for a two weeks’ vacation with their lovely, fat checks under the name of Clark Kent and Louis Lane.   
  
Now, Louis was looking at him, his blue eyes light and focused. “Give it two weeks. You can never sit still.”  
  
Harry shrugged carelessly, knowing that Louis was right. And, if their long and successful partnership was anything to go by, Louis wouldn’t be able to stand lazying about under the Mediterranean sun for long, either.

-

As it turned out, they didn’t have to worry about a potential lack of excitement.

By the time they landed, in a spot a little bit outside of Prague, the Interpol had already gotten their names – Harold Potter (“You always think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Louis had commented dryly when Harry was forging the passports) and Percy Weatherby (“We are way too obvious, you realize?” Harry had retorted when Louis suggested the name, but laughed and made his passport anyway). Their faces were plastered all over town and security check points. Police held up their pictures to compare faces as travelers entered the city.

Harry and Louis ended up knocking out two policemen and stealing their uniforms. They sneaked into the city without incidence and shucked the uniforms as well as their fake passports before blending into a crowd of tourists. From here, it was only a matter of getting on the train that they booked weeks ago and heading to Vienna.

They stopped by the National Gallery to pretend to look at art but really to fix up their clothes and change up their appearances. Harry donned a black wig with cropped bangs, and pink sunglasses to cover his green eyes (his best feature and probably his eventual downfall, according to Louis). Louis, on the other hand, smoothed his hair back and put on a beard that Harry swore was trying its darnest to eat Louis’s face. He looked so ridiculous that Harry had to lock himself behind a stall for five minutes in order to keep his laughter under control.

When they came out, both were wearing tourist clothes – khakis, white t-shirts (plus suspenders for Louis), completed with cameras around their necks and maps in their hands and giant backpacks. If anyone saw them, they would only vaguely remember a man with an impressive beard and his hipster-looking companion, and that was how Louis wanted it.

They got to Holešovice by the time dusk settled and made another costume change before boarding the last train under the pseudonyms Anthony Starks and Steven Rogers. It all went very well, until, of course, they got to their compartment.

“You booked us a  _single-bed_  compartment?”

Harry only grinned in reply, pushing Louis aside to get in and throwing his backpack onto the rack above the window. “I wasn’t sure if one of us was going to make it out alive. You were a bit obvious, weren’t you?”

Louis fumed at him, not even bothering to dignify Harry’s question with an answer. He wasn’t even aware they offered  _private_  compartment, with  _one bed,_ on this side of Europe, but of course when Harry’s perfect green eyes and pouting lips were involved Louis should’ve known nothing was impossible.

Feeling rather resigned and somewhat exasperated (a phenomenon Louis discovered occurred about ninety-five percent of the time when in the presence of one Harry Styles), Louis came inside and closed the door, locking it on second thought and shutting the blinds.

“You’re sleeping on the floor, you realize? This bed is only big enough for one person,” said Louis, shaking his backpack off his shoulders.

Harry, who was staring out at the window to observe the bustling station and the people hurrying to catch their train, turned around to look at him. His eyes were glinting wickedly when he said, “Then we’ll have to be creative, won’t we?”

Louis grumbled, crouching down on his knees to push the PASIV under the bed. When he got back up, Harry had already taken off his shirt and was in the process of pushing his pants down to his knees. Harry, being Harry, was going commando underneath.

Louis refrained from heaving an overly exaggerated sigh. They had spoken about this issue of Harry not wearing underwear a thousand times, and for the thousandth time Harry chose to ignore him. It felt as if since the moment they met, Harry lived to tease and contradict him. It was absolutely infuriating and under no circumstance endearing. Not even one bit.

Louis threw the blanket to the floor and flopped onto the bed, mastering the art of multi-tasking as he pulled his shirt off and kicked off his shoes all in the same breath. Now it was Harry’s turn to put on an expression of disbelief.

“You are not serious,” Harry said, staring at the blanket on the floor.

Louis smiled back at him, somewhat pettily and hardly caring. “Oh sunshine, you have  _no_  idea.”

With that said, he turned over to face the wall and closed his eyes.

-

Okay, here was the thing. Louis and Harry had never fucked. Not once. Not even a hand job in the dark, and that was pretty impressive considering at one point in their partnership they were trapped on an island in the Pacific Ocean for three months because they pissed off the wrong people.  _And_ they had been teenagers then. There were plenty of occasions to do so, too. They’d been partners for five years, after all, knew each other for even longer given that they trained in the same unit (along with Niall, Liam, and Zayne, but that was another story altogether). 

They just clicked the moment they met, like midmorning tea with biscuits or ice cream for dinner. At fifteen, Harry was scrawny and awkward when Simon introduced him to the Militarized Dream Division, Special Unit Five. He didn’t make friends until Louis came bouncing over with his hair obviously freshly buzzed and his eyes intrusively friendly and bright. Nothing special happened; they shook hands and made nice, Harry said he was an orphan and a thief, and Louis replied he was a teenage prodigy whom everyone suspected was going to become dictator of the world one day, and by the way what are you having for lunch? And from that day on, they were inseparable.

Fucking, though had crossed their mind (come on, they were men-who-were-boys with overactive imaginations and pushy know-it-all friends), had never really been a major all-consuming thought process in their daily lives. It wasn’t in their thoughts when they took leisure strolls through the park and discussed whether a baby was cuter than a puppy or vice versa (“Puppy!” Harry had exclaimed earnestly, his hair untamable and bouncy in his bright-eyed excitement, and Louis had temporarily wanted to agree with him); or when they collapsed onto a cheap motel bed after a day of some serious kung fu fighting (and the occasional bullets thrown around on the field) and giggled about useless daily happenings; or when they were lying on wet dirt in the Columbian forest, hungry and sweaty, telling one another hushed secrets and wishes for the future because they were hunted in enemy territory and there was no way they were going to make it out alive (thank fuck Simon decided he couldn’t live without getting a Harry-hug one more time and bombed the shit out of the Columbian mob base).

 

It wasn’t that they never had the opportunity to fuck each other, either. Everyone who knew them knew that they were so close they could practically be joined at the hip, or just mashed together into some weird combination of themselves (Stylinson was a popular nickname back in the military; Harry swore up and down for years that it was Simon who came up with it, the bastard). One was hardly ever seen without the other (and when they were, everybody knew a fight was transpiring and would make Louis apologize to Harry, because it was  _always_ Louis.) They shared everything, from their clothes to their toothbrushes and the occasional underwear (it wasn’t like Harry was wearing his, anyway). They even shared a girlfriend, once, but the girl couldn’t stand the way they kept making puppy eyes at one another and cracking jokes during sex so she left and suggested they started poking dicks instead of poking some other poor girl because, clearly, they were delusional to think they were straight.  _Really, so gay for each other Stylinson_ , she had said (obviously influenced by Simon, Harry had insisted indignantly.)

They weren’t particularly what one might call “gay”, either, unless one meant it in the Shakespearean sense in which case oh yeah, Louis most  _certainly_  was. Harry… well, he was just plain pansexually  _cute_. 

So being gay and cute and joined at the hips didn’t necessarily mean they were in need of fucking one another. (“Oh honestly guys, who are you kidding?” Liam, Niall, and Zayne had all said at one point or another using generally the same words, though Niall offered his thought in a rather more explicit manner, with gestures and pictures and everything). It was just, this was the way they were, like air and breathing, heat and body, a dreamer and his PASIV. They understood one another wordlessly, sometimes even anticipated each other’s need before the other realized it himself, and it was just  _easy_ , to be hanging out and talking and kicking Harry when he hogged the blanket and knocking Louis off the bed in retaliation.

Harry had never hesitated to take a bullet for Louis (on too many occasions as Louis tended to be bloody reckless when a job went wrong), and Louis, blessed him, never failed to protect Harry from the gossips and bitch-slappery that went on like wildfire in the world of dream stealing (Harry wasn’t the best forger in the dream business – the title went to some arrogant asshole Louis knew as “Eames” – and the business didn’t have any qualms about throwing it in his face, either). Despite his outgoing and easy manners, Harry was a slobbering mess when it came to feeling rejected and disliked, something that Louis suspected had to do with his being an orphan since he was a wee babe.

They had been friends and partners for so long that even if their feelings did develop from trust and love to mutual interest in more than just each other’s collection of Superman comics, it wasn’t like it was going to be a huge shock or an oh-my-god-my-penis-likes-my-best-friend’s-penis sort of moment. Between them, feelings grew naturally, like ink on paper, they just spread and spread and eventually filled up the whole space, until Louis and Harry were together in every sense of the word; and fucking, if it ever happened, was going to simply be a part of their life that would transpire unquestionably and probably, as Harry suspected, fucking fantastically.

So no, they had never fucked. That didn’t mean they didn’t sort of, kind of,  _really_  wanted to get in on it though.

(“ _Need_  to,” Zayne had commented after walking in on yet another of their too-many-to-count naked wrestling fights.)

-

Around the early hours of the morning, when the bloody sun wasn’t even up yet, the train jerked to a screeching, whistling halt, jolting Louis almost off the tiny bed and causing Harry’s bag to fall from the rack onto his face.

“What the bloody -?” Harry grumbled groggily, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands.

Louis was already on his feet, peeking out to the corridor outside through the blinds. Noises could be heard as people woke up from their slumber.

“Buggering fucking duck,” Louis mumbled, carding a hand through his hair in frustration, “border inspection.”

Harry came to stand next to Louis, feeling as if his heart was attempting to tear its way out of his chest to find somewhere to hide. They watched as the patrols flipped open passengers’ passports and checked faces. The words  _Potter, Weatherby,_ and  _verbrecher_  filtered through the rapid German being thrown around.

“Double fucking flipping fishes,” Louis cursed nonsensically and let go of the blinds, already thinking of ways to sneak out of this train unnoticed. He got about one step to the window before he was pushed back against the door (and quite violently, too, Louis was indignant to note).

He couldn’t get a word of reprimand out though, as Harry’s tongue was too busy making itself at home in his mouth, so he settled for a “mmpphhmmm” instead.

When they broke apart, both were breathing heavily.

“I really don’t think this is the time to test your fuck-cures-all theory, Harry,” Louis gasped.

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry hissed meaningfully, winding his arms around Louis’s neck and breathing right into his mouth. “This is the  _perfect_  time to test my fuck-cures-all theory. They’re not going to barge in on us if we’re having the best fuck of our lives.”

To prove this point, Harry moved in closer and pressed their hips together. Louis discovered that yes, Harry had a very solid point, and, out of nowhere, Louis began to have an epiphany that felt as big as though he was being hit by an allegorical ton of screaming brick:  _oh my god Harry has a really fuckable mouth_ , and oh hell, he really wanted to fuck Harry’s mouth.

“Better hurry,” Louis groaned when Harry’s hand sneaked between their bodies to touch his rapidly swelling dick through his pants. “They’re getting close.”

They were kissing again, slower this time despite knowing what was on the other side of the door. Louis took the time to become really aware of Harry’s naked heat, and his mobile lips, all soft and wet and  _knowing_. Harry used just the right amount of tongue, and then a bit too much, but for some reason Louis didn’t really mind it, and gave him just a bit too much tongue back. Harry giggled into his mouth, pressing him harder to the door and causing the blinds to crumble noisily. Louis laughed breathlessly back, raising a hand between them to curl around Harry’s erection.

Admittedly, Louis had only touched another dude’s dick once in his life for the specific purpose of getting off (never saw the point when a girl was always so readily available and eager). Touching Harry, though, it didn’t feel like he was just another dude and his dick. It felt private, dangerous, and incredibly, excitingly  _filthy_. And to be perfectly honest Harry had a very nice dick, uncut, hot and just the right weight in his palm, so really, it wasn’t such a hardship for him to wrap his hand around it and begin jerking Harry off as Harry fumbled with Louis’s pants, his fingers shaking as he pulled them down enough to release Louis’s cock.

As if Louis wasn’t uncoordinated enough, with his hand squished between their bodies, Harry had to go and add to the mix, taking a hold of his cock and began thumbing the tip like a pro. Louis was already leaking pre-come by this point, and he blamed it all entirely on Harry's swollen lips, which were pressing slow, wet kisses to his own, drawing out the contact, lingering with sweet pressure, and Louis, helpless, could only chase after for more.

Eventually, though, between Harry's ridiculously knowing mouth and his equally clever fingers, Louis had to pull away before he came pre-maturely and missed an opportunity like taking full advantage of Harry's pouty, kissed red lips.

"What?" Harry frowned when Louis tugged at his hair, peering up at Louis with lust addled eyes and puffy lips slicked with saliva. For a second Louis forgot what he was going to say and couldn’t resist dragging Harry back into another kiss that involved a lot of tongue and no finesse whatsoever.

"Harry," Louis groaned, breaking apart and taking his hand off Harry’s dick to get Harry’s attention. Sure enough, Harry whined and turned his dark eyes to him again.

"Harry," Louis tried again, swiping a finger across Harry’s lower lip, mesmerized by the way Harry's tongue automatically darted out to catch the tip into the wet recess of his mouth, "need you to suck me off now, sunshine. That okay?”

Harry began stroking him again, his thumb expertly rubbing at his foreskin. Louis thought he was going to pass out when the other boy leaned close and whispered, “I was hoping you could fuck me, but I can settle for a blowjob if you promise to return the favor?”

By this point, Louis would’ve promised him the moon and both his kidneys if it would get Harry’s on his knees and his mouth on Louis’s cock, but fortunately all Louis could manage to say was  _Yes fuck yes_  and therefore preventing himself from spouting any embarrassing nonsense.

Harry grinned and promptly dropped to his knees. Louis swore his heart stopped for a second as he took in the sight before him: Harry naked, his hair wild and mussed, his green eyes even more flirtatious than the models’s from Victoria’s Secrets. And then Harry put his hands on the top of Louis’s thighs and leaned in and now Louis  _really_  thought his heart stopped because his vision went black for a bit and everything felt fuzzy and then,  _and then_  Harry put his mouth to the head of Louis’s cock, and all that managed to pass through his brain was  _his mouth his fucking mouth_.

It became very clear very quickly to Louis and his Green Monster that Harry had done this before, and plenty of times. The way his lips wrapped around Louis’s cock and the way he managed to suck him all into his mouth in practically one go could only mean one thing. Louis pushed his hands into Harry’s hair and tugged on the curls, none too gently. Harry pulled back and tilted his face up.

There was a thin thread of pre-come trailing from the tip of Louis’s cock to the bottom of Harry’s wet, shiny lip. His eyes were wide and his pupils blown, almost black under thick lashes as they gazed at him, questioning, needing.

Louis swallowed thickly. He had always known Harry was handsome, in a charming, adorable, cuddly sort of way, but he had never known  _this_ , what Harry looked like with  _Louis’s dick_  in his mouth, what desperation and need looked like on his rose-flushed face. It was changing something inside him, unknotting a thousand unsaid, unthought, unrealized things and Louis felt choked with them, all for Harry.

Now himself desperate, on the edge, and so embarrassingly quickly, Louis took a hold of his cock and touched the head to Harry’s lips, smearing pre-come and watching as Harry’s tongue flicked out to lick him clean. Louis bit his lip, but a moan escaped anyway, loud, panting, urgent, and Harry took it as permission to take him back into the wet heat of his mouth, his throat. A suck, a firm lick from his balls to the tip of his cock, and then heat again, suckling pressure. Louis couldn’t keep up, couldn’t contain himself. When he looked back down to Harry, he realized he was holding Harry’s head in place and thrusting his hips, leading their coupling, fucking Harry’s mouth as he wished, and Harry,  _fuck_ , Harry was looking back at him, his mouth slack to allow Louis all that he wanted to take, with pleasure.

That was all it took. Louis buried his hands in Harry’s curls and  _gripped_ , pushing forward until Harry made a whiny, choked noise and grabbed his ass. Louis came to the feeling of Harry’s nails digging into his flesh and Harry’s moan around his cock. In the vague distance he heard someone banging on the door to their compartment, but all Louis could do in reply was knock his head back and groan loudly as his cock was skillfully sucked by Harry’s  _fucking mouth_  (and no, he didn’t think he would get over that thought anytime soon). He might have also screamed a bit, but Louis, understandably, was somewhat fuzzy on all the details outside of what was happening to his dick and who was kneeling at his feet like a pornographic dream.

“Uhh,” Harry said, fingers digging harder into Louis’s ass before he pulled away and let Louis finish on his face. Louis watched, speechless, as Harry nuzzled Louis’s cock with his cheek and smeared come over his face like a champ.

It was, truly, the last straw on his self-control.

Louis hoisted Harry up by his bicep and, in a move he mostly only attempted on his enemies, turned them both to slam Harry up against the door. Harry gave a surprised  _oophhm_ , his arms scrabbling at the window noisily, before all sounds were swallowed by Louis’s overeager mouth. Harry struggled momentarily to put his arms around Louis, but when Louis held both his wrists above his head with one hand Harry went instantly pliant and soft and then proceeded to moan into the kisses Louis was pressing to his mouth, lips and tongues and smiles all mashed together in a fit of passion and happiness.

Outside, voices could be heard saying something in German that sounded roughly like  _We’re looking for two international wanted criminals, not teenagers fucking so let’s move on_ , or  _Think they’ll give me some tips? My wife never sounds like that when we’re_  – and then Harry gave another breathy moan and Louis promptly forgot everything else. Well, it wasn’t as if his German was that great, anyhow.

Louis’s free hand fell to Harry’s cock, which was still hard and leaking copiously. Louis smirked against Harry’s mouth and began to stroke him, slowly, firmly, all the while whispering into his mouth, “Once we get to Wien, I’m going to lock us in a room and take my time. I’ll suck you off and then I’ll lick you out and finger you until you’re begging me to fuck you. And I will fuck you. I’ll fuck you senseless and won’t let you leave the bed for a long time because seriously  _why_  did we waste all those years  _not_  doing this at every opportunity? And your  _mouth_  fucking Christ Harry you have no idea what you do to me –“

Harry clenched his eyes shut, and Louis watched him greedily, took in the way the muscles in his arms bunched up, the way his hands curled into fists and how his stomach went taut. One more stroke, down to squeeze gently at his balls, and then back up to rub at the tip of his cock, and Harry came helplessly undone.

Louis kept on whispering filthily into his ears, not knowing exactly what he was saying but it had got to be good because Harry’s eyes were glazed over as his hips jerked erratically. One of Harry’s ankles hooked around his calf and then their hips were once again flushed together. Louis was only able to stare at Harry, awestruck, as the man let out an unashamedly loud, drawn out moan of such epic proportion that Louis couldn’t help but momentarily feel as if he was stuck in a porno, like a  _really_  good one and Harry was the star of  _all_  the fucking stars and Louis was somehow so incredibly damn lucky to have witnessed, to  _be a part_  of Harry Styles’s unraveling.

When they came down from their post-coital high, still pressed against one another and sharing much more than heat and air, Harry met his eyes and  _god_ , he just looked so pleased with himself that Louis couldn’t help but feel both exasperated and overwhelmingly fond, and embarrassingly sappy.

Outside, everything was silent. The train had started moving again without their knowing. Soon, the sun would rise, and the world would wake up, and they would have to put on their disguises and continue to run. Right now, though, Louis couldn’t find it in himself to care about anything except for the man in front of him, all rosy faced and impish smiles.

“I told you my theory would work,” Harry eventually said, smug, and Louis, damn it, was hopelessly charmed.

Louis wound his free, clean hand around Harry’s neck and pulled him into a lingering, sweet kiss, and then gave in when Harry slyly turned it into a filthy, sticky wet one.

“In the next few weeks,” Louis said and wiped a little of his come off of Harry’s forehead. “We are  _so_  going to fuck a lot.”

Harry let out a throaty laugh. “Oh boo bear, when we get off this train I am going to make sure we fuck on every available surface at all possible time until we get to Croatia. And then you’re going to fuck me  _everywhere_  on the cruise ship, until I’m so full of your come I’ll never be able to wash off your smell ever again.”

Louis stared at him. “You’re a bit of a slut, aren’t you?”

In reply, Harry took Louis’s come-drenched hand and sucked a finger into his mouth. Louis decided that they could work out the details later.

They had all the time in the world, anyway.

_End.  
_

 


End file.
